In amongst my circle of friends are Facebook naysayers. I find their innate suspicion of the social networking phenomenon intriguing.
Common arguments include; “I don't want all and sundry knowing the minutiae of my everyday life” or, “I actually have a life, I don't need this virtual pseudo-existence”.
Strong arguments, but I think their suspicion reveals more of them than they intend.
They agonise over whether to “add” someone, or whether to “delete” someone. It's simple with me, I always “add”. If someone wants to be my friend, regardless of whether or not we actually had/have a functional relationship in the real world, then so be it. Who am I to turn away the hand of friendship? (Although I draw the line at anyone who actually perpetrated juvenile violence against me, excluding my own sister). But I must admit even I'm tempted to delete those who indulge in gratuitous use of “text speak” in their status updates,i.e. Angie is avin a laff wit m8s n is lookin 4ward 2 l8r (;
It riles me. Speak properly. I know that you are, for example, a State Registered Nurse, and as such surely you must have better command of the English language?
The main and most accepted pro-facebook argument I can muster is that I'm not the most organised person and it ensures that I keep in touch with friends; and in turn encourages greater social activity away from the computer screen. Although I admit I am a Facebook junkie.
In defence of my over-utilisation of FB; I'm a Gemini, (and whether you believe in astrological stereotypes or not) my life is pretty much an open book. In the “real world” I happily share stories of my past experiences, (some admittedly more embellished for an audience) – anything for a laugh. This is because I love communicating and lack of human interaction makes me feel quite down. If I can amuse my friends with tales of romantic humiliation; I'm willing to make the sacrifice of some modicum of self-respect. Perceive me as you will.
Of course, I do have secrets.
However, whilst I'm happy to impart the odd snippets of dialogue on facebook, and this blog, there are certain things I'd never do. I'd never participate in “Location, Location” or any programme of that ilk, and I'd never let a TV crew or journalist into my own home. The sanctity of my domestic bliss is important to me. Even my closest relatives know they have to phone before descending upon me (or they leave a message on my wall to warn me!). I guess boundaries of privacy vary from one person to another.
Some of the warmest, friendliest people I know are suspicious of facebook; and I wonder why this is? To be self-confessional, open and friendly is viewed with scorn and disapproval. I understand the appeal of the concealed – the theory that a woman is more attractive when modestly dressed and close-lipped. But I'm of the opinion that often the quietest amongst us are often quiet for a reason. Because they are boring bastards.
Sunday, 8 February 2009
Monday, 26 January 2009
Cliques - they're for the playground people!
I'll admit it, I wasn't the most popular girl at school. Tragic, but true.
I guess one of my problems (among many) was simply trying too hard. I wanted to be everyone's friend and not constrained to a single group. The oily skin and overbite didn't help matters much either.
It was no small relief to leave school and leave all the angst and bitching behind. Then facebook came along. And all the old cliques and social stratas resurfaced. I'm under no illusions as to those who have "added" me, just to check out the photos (yes, I have got FAT, big whoop!). But its cool, I do it too.
What is sad, is thinking that those old cliques still exist. In the real world, we form friendships with people who we enjoy spending time with. Background, age and race are largely unimportant. How fashionable or cool they are is of little or no consequence. The friends I most want to spend time with are the people that make me laugh so hard I suffer a little bit of incontinence (thank god for tena lady, for the thinner, faster flow of a weak bladder...) and who tell me I look like a sex kitten, even when realistically I look like Vanessa Feltz's less attractive sister.
I'm glad I wasn't one of the beautiful people at school. For them school days were the best of their life. For me, every year of my life just gets better as the world opens up.
I guess one of my problems (among many) was simply trying too hard. I wanted to be everyone's friend and not constrained to a single group. The oily skin and overbite didn't help matters much either.
It was no small relief to leave school and leave all the angst and bitching behind. Then facebook came along. And all the old cliques and social stratas resurfaced. I'm under no illusions as to those who have "added" me, just to check out the photos (yes, I have got FAT, big whoop!). But its cool, I do it too.
What is sad, is thinking that those old cliques still exist. In the real world, we form friendships with people who we enjoy spending time with. Background, age and race are largely unimportant. How fashionable or cool they are is of little or no consequence. The friends I most want to spend time with are the people that make me laugh so hard I suffer a little bit of incontinence (thank god for tena lady, for the thinner, faster flow of a weak bladder...) and who tell me I look like a sex kitten, even when realistically I look like Vanessa Feltz's less attractive sister.
I'm glad I wasn't one of the beautiful people at school. For them school days were the best of their life. For me, every year of my life just gets better as the world opens up.
Sunday, 18 January 2009
Overrated: unfunny British comedy
Whilst sense of humour is highly subjective, I find it hard to comprehend that there are people out there that actually find certain British shows even mildly amusing.
The worst offender for producing overrated British “comedy” is, without doubt, the BBC.
The role call of shite includes:
My family - such a turgid old donkey of a show I barely dare to turn to BBC1 for fear of catching a re-run. Speaking of re-runs, enough already of Allo Allo, Beeb! Yes, it's funny in a very mild, "just crashing out after a huge sunday dinner" kind of way, but we've all seen it around 300 times (If I ever hear “Madonna with the big boobies” again I will scream).
Harry Enfield & Chums - so woefully embarrassing I doubt even the BBC with it's open purse policy will re-commission this lacklustre show. It was funny in, like, 1996, but not even mildy amusing now.
Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps – whilst this unfathomably long-running series has a gentle charm and a generally good cast – the script is terrible (I know, lets call the baby Corinthean! But why? Because I’m mental, me!) The characters are one dimensional and unbelievable. The lack of character development since the start of the show is actually quite an achievement. The musical episode sank to new depths of awfulness.
Also shows that simply rely on catch phrases (Fast Show-esque) irritate the living crap out of me.
For example, Little Britain - who is still laughing after the twentieth time a catchphrase has been repeated? Seriously. I wasn't the least surprised Little Britain in America absolutely bombed. The American audiences are accustomed to a much higher standard of writing.
Compare “That Mitchell and Webb Look” on BBC to “Peep Show” on C4. I can just envisage the unsuccessful meeting with the BBC to discuss the Peep Show format, “But what’s the catchphrase? Can’t have comedy without catchphrases!”
Fortunately for the BBC - That Mitchell and Webb Look, with the awesome talents of Robert Webb and David Mitchell, could hardly fail, and managed to strike some laugh out loud moments. My personal favourite is the "naming a dry cleaners sketch"
Turning to ITV, if Katy Brand’s Big Assed Show is the best it can come up with in terms of comedy, it really should continue to avoid the genre. Her celebrity mimics are beyond pathetic, like this one, which is apparently Kate Winslet -- I'm normal! Yes, you are very normal, extremely average, and that catchphrase becomes very irritating after the first 4 sketches.
(On a side issue - Its 7 years since Kate's "normal" bangers and mash wedding breakfast and she doesn't exactly pretend to be down to earth these days does she?!)
However, if you cut through the catchphrase comedy drivel, Britain is capable of producing some decent comedy, throughout the whole comedy spectrum - from extremely family friendly, non-offensive comedy such as The Vicar of Dibley right through to the dark and subversive comedy of Jam and Brass-Eye.
It is a shame such little subversive comedy gets commissioned, as this is the ground breaking area of the genre. The best British comedy, in my humble opinion, is Father Ted. The brilliant writer/director Graham Lineham has obviously gone on to produce Black Books and the IT Crowd, which have rare moments of genius, but sadly lack the pure originality of Father Ted.
Some of the most consistently funny and popular comedy falls in the centre of the comedy spectrum: Phoenix Nights, The Royle Family and Gavin & Stacey – all with solid writing and excellent casts.
Relatively undiscovered gems of comedy include “The Inbetweeners” (E4) and “Pulling” (BBC3, watch out for Sharon Horgan, an excellent writer and comedienne). I quite liked an episode of the superbly dark "Nighty Night", but I blinked, and missed it. (No chance of that going on the BBC Iplayer, it would affect the DVD sales).
Finally, my biggest gripe about British comedy is how little we actually get of it. The Americans manage marathon seasons of over 20 episodes, whilst we have to contend with just 6! I know the argument is that it would take too long to write, but can’t we just employ more writers?!
The worst offender for producing overrated British “comedy” is, without doubt, the BBC.
The role call of shite includes:
My family - such a turgid old donkey of a show I barely dare to turn to BBC1 for fear of catching a re-run. Speaking of re-runs, enough already of Allo Allo, Beeb! Yes, it's funny in a very mild, "just crashing out after a huge sunday dinner" kind of way, but we've all seen it around 300 times (If I ever hear “Madonna with the big boobies” again I will scream).
Harry Enfield & Chums - so woefully embarrassing I doubt even the BBC with it's open purse policy will re-commission this lacklustre show. It was funny in, like, 1996, but not even mildy amusing now.
Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps – whilst this unfathomably long-running series has a gentle charm and a generally good cast – the script is terrible (I know, lets call the baby Corinthean! But why? Because I’m mental, me!) The characters are one dimensional and unbelievable. The lack of character development since the start of the show is actually quite an achievement. The musical episode sank to new depths of awfulness.
Also shows that simply rely on catch phrases (Fast Show-esque) irritate the living crap out of me.
For example, Little Britain - who is still laughing after the twentieth time a catchphrase has been repeated? Seriously. I wasn't the least surprised Little Britain in America absolutely bombed. The American audiences are accustomed to a much higher standard of writing.
Compare “That Mitchell and Webb Look” on BBC to “Peep Show” on C4. I can just envisage the unsuccessful meeting with the BBC to discuss the Peep Show format, “But what’s the catchphrase? Can’t have comedy without catchphrases!”
Fortunately for the BBC - That Mitchell and Webb Look, with the awesome talents of Robert Webb and David Mitchell, could hardly fail, and managed to strike some laugh out loud moments. My personal favourite is the "naming a dry cleaners sketch"
Turning to ITV, if Katy Brand’s Big Assed Show is the best it can come up with in terms of comedy, it really should continue to avoid the genre. Her celebrity mimics are beyond pathetic, like this one, which is apparently Kate Winslet -- I'm normal! Yes, you are very normal, extremely average, and that catchphrase becomes very irritating after the first 4 sketches.
(On a side issue - Its 7 years since Kate's "normal" bangers and mash wedding breakfast and she doesn't exactly pretend to be down to earth these days does she?!)
However, if you cut through the catchphrase comedy drivel, Britain is capable of producing some decent comedy, throughout the whole comedy spectrum - from extremely family friendly, non-offensive comedy such as The Vicar of Dibley right through to the dark and subversive comedy of Jam and Brass-Eye.
It is a shame such little subversive comedy gets commissioned, as this is the ground breaking area of the genre. The best British comedy, in my humble opinion, is Father Ted. The brilliant writer/director Graham Lineham has obviously gone on to produce Black Books and the IT Crowd, which have rare moments of genius, but sadly lack the pure originality of Father Ted.
Some of the most consistently funny and popular comedy falls in the centre of the comedy spectrum: Phoenix Nights, The Royle Family and Gavin & Stacey – all with solid writing and excellent casts.
Relatively undiscovered gems of comedy include “The Inbetweeners” (E4) and “Pulling” (BBC3, watch out for Sharon Horgan, an excellent writer and comedienne). I quite liked an episode of the superbly dark "Nighty Night", but I blinked, and missed it. (No chance of that going on the BBC Iplayer, it would affect the DVD sales).
Finally, my biggest gripe about British comedy is how little we actually get of it. The Americans manage marathon seasons of over 20 episodes, whilst we have to contend with just 6! I know the argument is that it would take too long to write, but can’t we just employ more writers?!
Saturday, 17 January 2009
you suck microsoft!
Literally the worst advert ever made in the history of all adverts:
Is this the software that Sarah Silverman uses?
Is this the software that Sarah Silverman uses?
Thursday, 8 January 2009
Last night's tv...
Continuing with the theme of not getting off my fat arse due to manflu, I spent last night sprawled on the sofa glued to the idiot box.
Slightly sickening was watching the progress of rich bitch Stephanie Clark and her lapdog husband Dominic searching for properties in Relocation, Relocation.
Steph, with her irritatingly gauche penchant for Ralph Lauren neckscarves and ickle baby jumpers, even out poshed uber-tory Kirstie Allsopp.
Steph's bizarre requirements for a period property with period features but with clean lines(?) and smooth walls, led to a brilliant bread analogy by Kirstie, which went something like: if you want granary bread, you accept that it has bits in it, if you don't want bits, you have to have white bread...genius.
Actually I do have a little soft spot for Kirstie, which I think mainly stems from the fact we're roughly the same dress size.
I drew a little comfort from the fact that, despite an obscene wealth at such a young age and obnoxiousness oozing from every pore, the Clarks settled on a hideous roadside bungalow, "because it has acreage" daarling. No dear, it has ACRE, singular, not ACREAGE!
Unsurprisingly, the pair had managed to concieve for the second time, re-inforcing Green Day's theory that "only stupid people are breeding".
I then flicked over to ITV's "Superhuman: the world's smallest people". I don't know what I was expecting from this programme, perhaps if I'm brutally honest, maybe a little bit of comedy gold...I know, I'm going to hell. However, some of these people were seriously inspirational. Particularly Tanylalee, a 3ft comedienne working the Las Vegas comedy circuit. Her self-evasive quip "check out the tits on this five year old" had the audience in hysterics. She'd even managed to get herself a Husband ("We're all the same size lying down") and they were due to celebrate their 10th anniversary. Cue, tear to my eye.
The cameras also followed 19 year old He Ping Ping from Inner Mongolia, who at 2'5" is the world's smallest person. His family had obviously read the Lynne Spears' Guide to Parenting, and were trying to cash in on his tenuous claim to fame.
I think my absolute favourite little person was Michael, Britain's smallest man. Who despite his diminuative frame, had a full sized wife and child, full time job and a nack for pub snooker. He touched my heart by giving his wife a necklace on their anniversary. I didn't much like the necklace, and I don't think she did either, but he was really pleased with himself. Just like any other bloke in Britain would be. Bless.
However the shizniz of the dwarf world are obviously the competitors in the Dwarf Athletics Association Games. Fully proportional, with deep voices and buckets of ambition, these little dudes were competing to be "the fastest little person on the planet", which I imagine is quite a good pick up line in a dwarf club? Or maybe not...
Slightly sickening was watching the progress of rich bitch Stephanie Clark and her lapdog husband Dominic searching for properties in Relocation, Relocation.
Steph, with her irritatingly gauche penchant for Ralph Lauren neckscarves and ickle baby jumpers, even out poshed uber-tory Kirstie Allsopp.
Steph's bizarre requirements for a period property with period features but with clean lines(?) and smooth walls, led to a brilliant bread analogy by Kirstie, which went something like: if you want granary bread, you accept that it has bits in it, if you don't want bits, you have to have white bread...genius.
Actually I do have a little soft spot for Kirstie, which I think mainly stems from the fact we're roughly the same dress size.
I drew a little comfort from the fact that, despite an obscene wealth at such a young age and obnoxiousness oozing from every pore, the Clarks settled on a hideous roadside bungalow, "because it has acreage" daarling. No dear, it has ACRE, singular, not ACREAGE!
Unsurprisingly, the pair had managed to concieve for the second time, re-inforcing Green Day's theory that "only stupid people are breeding".
I then flicked over to ITV's "Superhuman: the world's smallest people". I don't know what I was expecting from this programme, perhaps if I'm brutally honest, maybe a little bit of comedy gold...I know, I'm going to hell. However, some of these people were seriously inspirational. Particularly Tanylalee, a 3ft comedienne working the Las Vegas comedy circuit. Her self-evasive quip "check out the tits on this five year old" had the audience in hysterics. She'd even managed to get herself a Husband ("We're all the same size lying down") and they were due to celebrate their 10th anniversary. Cue, tear to my eye.
The cameras also followed 19 year old He Ping Ping from Inner Mongolia, who at 2'5" is the world's smallest person. His family had obviously read the Lynne Spears' Guide to Parenting, and were trying to cash in on his tenuous claim to fame.
I think my absolute favourite little person was Michael, Britain's smallest man. Who despite his diminuative frame, had a full sized wife and child, full time job and a nack for pub snooker. He touched my heart by giving his wife a necklace on their anniversary. I didn't much like the necklace, and I don't think she did either, but he was really pleased with himself. Just like any other bloke in Britain would be. Bless.
However the shizniz of the dwarf world are obviously the competitors in the Dwarf Athletics Association Games. Fully proportional, with deep voices and buckets of ambition, these little dudes were competing to be "the fastest little person on the planet", which I imagine is quite a good pick up line in a dwarf club? Or maybe not...
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